The Serpent's Homecoming
by jhm.59
Summary: The night of Lucius' return to Malfoy Manor, after his Azkaban imprisonment. OneShot


It was late, but not late enough. The house of Malfoy was still, yet the silence was deafening and carried a certain, foreboding weight.

The lady of the house, Narcissa Black-Malfoy, stood statuesque next to the bannister atop the main stairway, watching the large, full-length windows at the front of the manor apprehensively. After a moment, she allowed herself a breath that came in a white fog. For a moment, she took out her wand and aimed it at one of the wall-sconces.

"No, this is not the occasion," she murmured, pocketing it in her robes.

Lucius, her husband and master of the house, had yet to arrive, and would be shortly, from Azkaban prison. The mere thought of the place made Narcissa's expression turn grave. Her ivory skin paled even more and a haunted look overcame her periwinkle-blue eyes. Even the worst of wizardkind would not dare end up in Azkaban if it could be avoided.

Two minutes passed, echoed by the drone of a clock, somewhere within the manor. Narcissa grew nervious; her eyes darted to the windows but outside was empty.

"There is still time," she breathed.

Another minute ebbed on; then, a swirl of misty black, and two figures appeared at the manor gates, followed by one of the Azkaban guards.

Narcissa shivered, feeling suddenly faint; the guard appeared to have noticed her, even from the distance, but did not advance. Relieved, the woman descended the stairs, keeping her bearing high, and waited near the double front doors.

"Please," her breath caught, strangled painfully in her throat, her eyes locked, unnerved upon the large wooden doors. "Don't…"

Narcissa felt the three before they entered. The air had gone dank and heavy, with a strong, putrid and moldy scent. The doors barely whined open and she inhaled, frightened to her toes. The dementor had forced the doors, peeking from the opening with its soulless, empty face, bringing its rotten, scabbed, diseased-looking fingers to its hood.

"She is no danger to us," a male voice spoke, ordering the creature to withdraw.

The dementor 'looked' at the woman with hungry dislike, as if contemplating whether or not to heed orders.

"Go," Narcissa heard herself breathe.

With a hiss and rattle, the thing was gone; the doors opened further and Lucius Malfoy entered, cloaked in black, still wearing his Azkaban attire underneath.

"Lucius," his name escaped her lips.

The master forcedly looked at his wife with dull, haunted eyes. He had not shaved, and his long, normally luxuriant white-blond hair was tangled and dirty, smelling of prison mold.

"Cissa-"

"Not too chummy now. The Dark Lord will be wanting an audience with you shortly, _Lucius_." The guard drawled, finishing with a barely-heard chuckle.

Master Malfoy swallowed visibly, panic creeping into his once-cold, grey eyes, giving them a wide, doe-eyed appearance.

"Very well," he squawked. "_Leave us_."

Though bedraggled, Lucius still held command, and Narcissa sighed in relief when the man did not question her husband's request.

"What did they do to you?" she asked, seeing Lucius more clearly now that the guard and soul-eater had left; his face was sunken and sickly looking, a skeleton of his prideful person.

"Cissa," he grasped her arm with a shaking hand.

"Don't," she looked away, covering his hand with her own to still him.

"Where is Draco?" he managed, brushing her fine, flaxen-blonde hair from her face.

"He's asleep," she replied, willing the quaver from her voice, her brow furrowed in agitation.

Lucius' lips tightened to a line and for a moment, he was there with her.

"Then-" he stepped toward the staircase.

"No," Narcissa held him back. "He doesn't need to see you like this," she spoke firmly, taking in the appearance of his torn, threadbare clothing; even his own personal cloak had not been spared, and there were holes in his shoes.

Lucius paused and looked down at his wife, a snarl pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Cissa, _this_ is who I _am_. I have _nothing else_."

"_No_," Narcissa urged. "You are still Draco's _father_-"

"And what good have I done for him?!"

Narcissa glared, her blue eyes shining.

"He needs you now, _especially_ now."

"For what?" Lucius questioned, sagging his shoulders.

"Draco has _no one else_-"

"Severus-"

"Severus is _not_ his _father_," the lady cut in.

"What am I to do? His path has been _made_."

"Lucius, Tom is still only _human_." She murmured, leaning up to him until their faces nearly touched. "He is _flawed_; have faith in that," Narcissa gave him a reassuring kiss, delicately brushing his unshaven face with the tip of her finger. "Help your son; our master will be his own _undoing_."


End file.
